


Cataholic Syndrome

by DEATHBERRY



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accountant Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cupid Bucky Barnes, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:16:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DEATHBERRY/pseuds/DEATHBERRY
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a cupid falling down on him. </p><p>Yes, <em>literally.</em> </p><p>There’s a fucking hobo-looking cupid, no bow and arrow shit, but with 5 o’clock shadow on the sharp jawline and fucking cat ears on the head, falling down on him when some girl at the club tries to flirt with him. (and no, that fucking cupid is not cute, not at all. What? Ok, fine. That’s a lie. That cat-ear dude is one fucking cute cupid, if he might say, and also fucking hot and has one hell of sexy thighs and the prettiest red lips. Huh? What? Who said that? No! Not him!) </p><p>Like, is this his fucking life now?!</p><p>In which Steve is a boring (and gay as fuck) accountant and Bucky is, well, a cupid with fucking cat ears (,the prettiest red lips and a pair of the sexiest thighs ever existed, according to Steve, but he probably won’t admit that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to all the office workers out there who suffer in their small cubicle alone, like me.

Steve Rogers and Loki Laufeyson are not friend. They are colleague of the same fucking company, yes. That's acceptable enough for Steve. But friend? No, nope, not in his fucking life. Stark Industry is big enough for him to not be friend with that Loki Laufeyson. The reason? There's no fucking any reason. That slick black hair annoys him. That green eyes annoy him. That sharp tailored suit that guy always wears to work also annoys him. Most of all, that smirk annoys him. And don't let him start about that dude's attitude.

 

So, when that little green eyes Silvertongue (yes, that is what he's called by the whole Sales Department. Although he is an annoying dude, he's one hell of a sale representative, able to sell you shits with the price of gold, that kind of thing, and he sells those shits to the military, so, yeah, point taken.) strolls like he owns a fucking floor across the hall from the Sales Department section to his boring Accounting Department section and stops right at his cubical, Steve knows there's something up. Loki crosses his arm over his chest, rests his hip at the corner of the flimsy partition, and smirks down at him like a little shit he is.

 

Yeah, he hates this dude alright.

 

"What's up Rogers"

 _What's up your ass,_ Steve wants to say, but his ma taught him to be a better person than this little shit (God rest her soul), so he just stops typing on his laptop, pushes his glasses he wears only when using a computer up the bridge of his slightly crooked nose, and looks up, smiling back at the guy, all friendly and nice, and damn, his ma should be proud.

 

"Great! How's about you? Not busy today?"

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Clint Barton watching him from the next cubical. Yes, he and Barton are friend. His life is not that bitter, just getting there, thank you very much.

 

"No, not so much," Loki answers and actually sounds bored. (Fuck that guy, he doesn't care.) There's a crashing sound occurring from across the hall, which gets Loki's attention immediately and makes him turn his head back to watch. Steve doesn't try to pry, seriuosly, he's not that kinda guy, but there's a fucking huge hickey imprinted on that slim pale neck. And, really, it is not a new thing here. People on this floor, and maybe an entire workers in Stark building, has seen those fucking hickeys on that neck for years now. They gossip and finally stop when it starts to get boring. Although sometimes at lunch, when other gossips are more boring, they still try to guess who has fucked that boy anyway. (God help that poor soul.)

 

Steve turns his head a little to make eye contact with Barton - who has no shame at all when he tries to eavesdrop because he pushes his chair near the partition sharing with Steve and has one ear in Steve's cubicle already - like he wants to confirm that what he sees is actually a hickey, and a little curt nod form Barton confirms that he's right. Damn! that little shit definitely has his charm. Loki turns his attention back to him eventually.

 

"You were saying?"

 

"Huh?"

This little shit sure knows how to make him look stupid.

 

"Oh, I was gonna ask whether you free tonight."

 

"Why?"

Loki shrugs, like it's no big deal and gestures his hand carelessly to his side of the floor.

 

"We'll go out for a drink tonight."

 

"And?"

That little shit sighs, and how the fuck does that quiet sound of breath make him feel stupid, Steve doesn't even know.

 

"The girls want you to come."

There's a heavy thud from Barton's cubicle and next thing he knows, he has both Barton's hands clapping tightly at his shoulder and has the man himself standing right there at the back of his chair, eyes bright and determine. (No, he doesn't see it. He _feels_ it.)

 

"Is Romanov going?"

Fuck Barton and his Russian redhead expat. One of Loki's perfectly groomed eyebrows raises a little, at the same time Steve looks over his shoulder to give his friend a stinky glare. Barton coughs dryly into his hand then clears his throat diplomatically, looking at Loki with uninterested eyes and a little lifted eyebrows as if to say ' _well?'_. Loki's eyebrows seems a tad higher at that.

 

"I guess? She didn't say anything about not coming. What Barton? Wanna join our tiny little hang out too? And I thought you hate me," Loki draws the words out with a smirk on his lips, and damn, Barton is gonna get eaten alive by this little shit. Steve is kinda feel rather than see Barton swallows hard. The poor dude still puts on his brave face and moves forward. (God bless this dude soul, seriously.)

 

"What? No, I like you alright."

Oh, isn't that a fucking truth. Loki snorts. He seems to think the same thing Steve is thinking, but he lets that slip without any further comment. (God really bless Barton's soul indeed.)

 

"Perfect. I assume I'll see both of you tonight, then. I'll forward you the time and place. See you tonight boys."

Drama Queen as ever, Loki mockingly salutes both of them then turns around, walking back to his side of the floor with a grace of a poison snake. Steve turns back to Barton - who walks back to his own cubical and sits down on his chair, scrolling it back to the desk as if there's nothing happen - and gives him a full glare.

 

“I thought you're done with Romanov.”

 

“I've never said that,” Barton argues, and it's the most childish argument he's ever heard in years.

 

“Yes, you did. You met her farther. He's a Russian mafia and scares you shitless.”

 

“Steve, her father pointed a fucking pistol at my face! I'm permitted to be scared shitless. But it doesn't mean I'm done with her.”

Okay, point taken. Steve wants to ask more of how on earth Barton ended up meeting with Mr.Romanov last Easter, but decides to swallow the question back and keeps it for next time. (meaning: when the dude is dead drunk and ready to spill every detail of his miserable life to any living creature that has ears and patient enough to sit still for the whole night to listen.)

 

“Still, Rogers, who do you think fuck that shithead? Must be one hell of a girl, or a guy, whatever, don't you think?”

 

How the hell would he know?!

 

*****

 

It's not like Steve hates hanging out, per se. He likes alcohol and loud music alright. He smokes too, if he's depressed enough to upset his poor lungs (and also his beloved ma, of course.) But, well, just not with Loki Laufeyson sitting on the opposite side of the booth, smirking at him nonstop for god known reason. Steve prides himself a friendly and easy-going person, but he really hates that little shit.

 

"You look bored, Rogers. Don't like your beer?"

 _Just don't like your face, thank you very much_ , he wants to say, but keeps it at only a smile because his ma taught him well. He sips the beer in the question. It's slightly warm but actually tastes better than the one sold at his usual place.

 

"No, no, it's nice. This is great, thanks."

 

"Oh, good," Loki mumbles before turns back to his drink and his colleague sitting next to him, ignoring him completely.

 

While Steve is in the middle of thinking for an accuse to leave early (and fuck Barton, by the way. He doesn't care.), a pretty girl with tight red dress flops down next to him with the brightest pink drink he's ever seen in her hand. It's Janice from R&D, and how the hell Loki can invite the girls from R&D - whose office is 43 floors higher than theirs - to this little mid weekday hang out, Steve doesn't wanna know. (It will probably boost that little shit's already unbearable ego to go even higher, and Steve will never let that happen, _ever_.) She smiles brightly at him.

 

"Let's go dancing, Steve!"

 

"Huh? Uhh, I can't dance."

 

"Yes, you can! Everyone can dance. Even my grandpa can dance. C'monn,"

Okay, point taken, and in his defense, he's just a quiet guy. He loves drawing, and dancing is not really his thing. Janice puts her drink down on the table and grabs his hands, pulling him out of the booth with a really surprising force and leading him through the crowd straight to the dance floor. Steve follows her easily (because he's nice like that.)

 

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Barton grinding - in an attempt to dance, he supposes - awkwardly to the redhead girl in a black tight dress, the infamous Russian sales representative of Stark Industry, the little black widow of the Sales Department, Natasha Romanov.

 

If Loki can sell you shits with the price of gold, that little spider can also sell you shits with the price of gold, but she will probably makes you doubt your existence, worry about your mother, upset with your father and you will definitely end up buying more shits with the twice price of gold. And to think that she's Russian and her main customers are the US military and Ministry of Defense, so, yeah, again, point taken.

 

"How long do you think Barton gonna last?" Janice asks with a low voice as she reaches her arms up to loop around his neck, locking their body close together. Her hip starts to sway with the beat and Steve tries so hard not to blush.

 

"What?"

Why people always makes him feel stupid most of the time, Steve doesn't even know. Janice gestures her month to the couple in the question.

 

"Romanov and Barton, how long do you think before she eats him alive?"

 _After they have the most kinky sex ever discovered and Barton is on the verge of dying because he orgasms too many times in one night to call it healthy,_ Steve wanna answers, but it sounds rude and corrupts the nice boy image he tries to maintain (fuck off! It helps him get his way in the office most of the time.), so he just shrugs and puts his hands on her hip, let his body sway with her. Her soft breast brushing his chest occasionally, but definitely not accidentally. It feels nice, thought.

 

"Dunno, she likes him enough to not eat him, I guess."

 

"Steve darling, Romanov doesn't _like_ anyone. Everyone knows that."

Well, true enough, but before he can say that out loud, someone grabs his shoulder and wrenches his body out of Janice's arms so hard his ass ends up hitting the floor, making the crowd on the dance floor steps away from him likes flies.

 

His first thought, like a very first of the first, is why no one has mentioned that Janice has an angry boyfriend coming with her tonight. But after the second, the sight of the man straddling over is body makes him push that thought away immediately. Well, because, firstly, Janice's boyfriend probably won't wear only black skinny tight jeans with designedly cuts on the knees to the pub (intentionally showing of his fucking tights. It must be intentionally, Steve's sure of that.)

 

Secondly, and most importantly, Janice's boyfriend probably, no, _definitely_ won't have fucking cat ears growing on the fucking head! The man with chin-length brown hair and scruffy jaw crouches down, sitting on his abdomen comfortably with one hand supporting his own weight on his chest and bending down so close Steve feels the hair tickling his cheeks. At this close, he can see a pair of stormy grey eyes and the prettiest red lips he's ever seen. The dude smirks, and the dark tattoo covering his whole left arm doesn't make him appear any friendlier.

 

"That's not your soulmate, dude. Let find the new one. I'll help, promise."

 

_**What the hell? What the fucking hell?!!!** _

 

*****

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve blinks once, and that cat ear dude still sits there on his stomach (and half nude, but, of course, that's not the main problem, at least in Steve's opinion anyway.) He blinks twice more, and that cat ear dude still smirks devilishly at him (and it’s so fucking good looking in a badboy way it’s unfair.)

 

It makes Steve wonder a little whether that little shit Loki Laufeyson has slipped something in his beer or what. (Of course, that little shit is his first suspect. He hates that dude.)

 

“Steve?”

He hears Janice calling him, and it feels a lot louder than the music playing in the pub, which is obnoxiously loud to begin with. He finds her standing at his feet, the same spot she was before that fucking cat ear freak knocked him over. Steve cranes his neck a little in order to look pass the pale muscular body that refuses to move even just for a tiny bit (rude) so he can see a clear sight of Janice’s face. She looks skeptical, as well as the whole crowd on the dance floor that all looks down at him. If he’s not so shock like this, this will be very embarrassing experience and he might have a nightmare about it for awhile. But you see, for a boring guy like Steve Rogers who has never once in his fucking boring life ever seen any dude with fucking cat ears growing out from the middle of the fucking head, he thinks the skeptical look on those people face is not enough for the situation.

 

“That’s your cat?”

 

“What?”

His face is probably funny when he says that short word out. He looks back at the said cat, and that fucking cat lifts his right eyebrows, which has a silver piercing at the tail, at him as if daring him to tell Janice about what he sees. Steve opens his mouth, planning to say something because God forbids Steve Rogers to back down from a fight (even it’s with a half-cat dude), but he can’t seem to find anything to say, which makes that cat ear dude smirk at him even more. (Steve will get his revenge one day, he promises himself secretly.)

 

“He’s so cute.”

 

“Huh?”

Janice walks closer and crouches down with closed knees next to his head, and the moment she moves from that spot, everything on the dance floor seems to finally spin back to normal. People suddenly decide Steve is not worth their precious time anymore and turn back to the thing they’ve been doing, like nothing happens and Steve doesn’t have a cat ear freak sitting smugly on his abdomen.

 

“You really love your Steve, aren’t you? You don’t even move. Steve, what’s his name?”

 

“Err, Who?”

 

“Your cat, of course,” Janice says as she looks down at him with a tiny frown between her thin eyebrows like she starts to doubt his intelligence then moves her eyes back to the guy she thinks is a cat. (Well, it’s almost true anyway.) She smiles at that dude sweetly as she reaches out to put a hand on the dude’s messy brown lock and scratches her fingers softly at the back of one of the cat ears. Just like those silly cats that are always a whore for attention and pampering, that cat dude starts purring with a really annoying face (defining: really fucking erotic face expression a man can do with the face.) before slowly lies down on him, eyes close and nose presses tight at the base of his neck.

 

It starts to look strange, really.

 

“Your date’s hand is so soft. Have you touched it? Guess not. Like I said, this is not your soulmate, dude. I’ll find you a better one. But get this one’s number. I like her.”

 

The hell Steve cares!

 

“You like that kitty? You’re purring. I’ve never heard a cat purring this much before. C’mon Steve, what’s his name? I won’t steal him, promise.”

 

“Err, well, he’s not my cat, actually.”

 

“What? What are you doing here then, kitty. This is not a place for a cat. And Steve is not yours to sit on anytime you want. Bad kitty. Bad,” Janice pretends to scold the dude she still thinks is a cat while she strokes her knuckles at the base of the cat ear a tad harder than before as if to punish a bad kitty that sneaks into the pub without permission. And of course, the cat ear dude doesn’t care less. He purrs even louder and stretches even more comfortably on his body.

 

“He looks too clean to be a stray. Might belong to one of the staff. I’ll take him to the back. You wait here, alright?” She says to him with a stern voice like he’s a fucking cat and turns to the actual cat (half of it anyway), slipping her hands under the cat ear dude in order to lift him up. Seriously, Steve tries to stop her, but the moment that dude’s lean body is lifted up from him, his voice suddenly disappears and he is left with mouth hanging open stupidly (again), because instead of having a grown ass man in her hands, Janice has a white cat with dark fur at its two hind legs and ears, and a pair of stormy grey eyes. Steve thinks maybe he’s really drunk, but the way that fucking cat smirks at him (Yes! It does fucking smirks!) and uses its grey eyes to stare at him in the most devilish way makes him know that he’s not even drunk enough for this shit.

 

Steve opens his mouth to stop her again, trying to convince her to leave that cat the fuck alone and maybe call a local animal control agency to take care of it, but Janice has none of that. She holds it in the crook of her arm and croons at the cat, who nuzzles its head to her soft breasts (fucking perverted cat) and purrs so loud it’s annoying.

 

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Janice says before turns to leave without giving him a time to say no. Steve watches her disappear in the crowd while he clumsily stands back up. At first, he wants to follow her, but some part of his brain argues that he sees enough supernatural shit to last two life times already and should go back home to rest (and maybe somber up a little) as he probably cannot handle more shits like that anymore for the night and will definitely loose his mind, so he decides to turns back, walking out of the pub without saying goodbye to anyone. (Not even Barton, who still grinds with the Russian expat and doesn’t notice any shit.)

 

“Fuck my life,” Steve mumbles as he strides across the street to where he parked his Harley Davidson, one hand in the pant pocket, searching for the key. He doesn’t even care he’s jaywalking. He just needs to be home, like _now._

 

“Dude, where’ve you been? It’s cold out here, don’t y'know”

 

“Sh…Shit! SHIT!!” Steve startles, cursing loudly like he’s never done since teenager. (Ma would be so mad for this kind of manner.) His hand suddenly turns weak and drops the key when he sees who’s already waiting for him at the bike. He feels rather than actually knows that his eyes are now too huge, but that fucking cat ear dude doesn’t give him many choices of how he should react. (Like he said, Steve will definitely go insane if this shit keeps happening to him like this.) The guy smirks and crosses his arms across his bare chest smugly as if Steve’s reaction pleases him. And from this angle, Steve notices a black tail waving lazily behind the dude’s back.

 

This is too much, seriously. If Steve sees one more supernatural shit again tonight, he swears to God he’ll definitely faint.

 

“All that bulk and muscle and you’re still scared of me? tsk, tsk, tsk. How am I gonna find you a wifey, dude? This ain’t do.”

 

 _Good thing I don’t faint_ , Steve wants to shot back, but it probably doesn’t make him look good, so he decides to shut up and waits. The cat ear dude sighs in a too dramatic way more than necessary as he walks closer, bending down to pick up the key for him. He sighs too dramatically than necessary again when Steve doesn’t reach a hand to take it back. The dude grabs his wrist, trying to put the key in his hand. Steve swears he’s not that spooky, but by the time that dude’s cold hand touches his skin, he cries out in horror with the most God-awful voice and startles so hard he ends up dropping the key again.

 

“Fuck! FUCK! Get your hand off me! I’m gonna…”

 

“Dude, c’mon, chill. I ain’t gonna do anything funny, just wanna find you a girl, isn’t that cool? Like a cupid, y'know. That’s so fucking cool. C’mon, start you bike. I’m sleepy. Is your home far from here? I don’t do so great with a bike.”

 

The hell?! What the fucking hell?!!

 

*****

 

Steve kills the engine and kicks down a stand to hold the bike up right before glances back to a guy who plasters himself to his back and nuzzles the nose at the base of his neck, breathing warm gentle breath on his skin evenly it's almost comforting. The dude lifts his head up a little when he feels the engine stop. He looks around curiously then turns back to raise one of his eyebrows at Steve as if to ask if they arrive, but when Steve can’t seem to answer fast enough, the dude shrugs and swings his long long, oh so fucking long, leg off the bike, walking to the front door and waiting for him to open it like a good little kitten. Steve finds himself starting to have an urge to curse again, but he grits his teeth, keeping the bad words inside, and hurriedly follows the dude, who now starts tapping his foot impatiently.

 

“C’mon! It’s cold.”

 

Fuck this dude, seriously.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve mumbles while putting a key in, and when the front door is unlocked, the cat ear dude doesn’t hesitate to push pass him and dashes into his apartment building.

 

“Which floor?”

 

“Fifth, take the stair, the elevator is broken.”

 

“Damn, fuck your life dude.”

 

Yeah, fuck his life indeed.

 

The guy turns to the stairs and starts climbing without any farther complaint, and well, for Steve, who climbs after him, doesn’t have any complaint about it either since, well, he has the best sight of that butt and thighs right in front of him like this. (He intentionally ignores the tail waving left and right. It makes his sanity still stay in place, thank you very much.) He’s not gonna admit it to anyone in the world that they are the best butt and thighs he’s ever seen so far in the couple of years.

 

“So, what’s your name?”

 

“You don’t need to know,” Steve mutters, keeping his eyes down when the dude turns back to look at his face. The cat ear dude scrunches up his nose with a little frown. It’s adorable, combining with the way that the cat ears shift a little, damn, Steve thinks he has a fetish.

 

“Off couse, I do. I can’t keep calling you dude. C’monnn, I’m Bucky. It’s probably not my real name ‘cause I can’t remember shit. But the previous previous previous dude called me Bucky so I’m Bucky. You?”

 

And, wow, how can a guy say no to that big gunmetal blue eyes?

 

“Okay, okay, I’m Steve Rogers.”

Bucky’s face lights up a little after he says it out, and he’s not gonna admit (again) that it really warms his heart. They finally reaches his floor after a few minutes. Steve leads his guest (duh) to the last door in the hallway and uses the same key to unlock the door. Again, when the door clicks unlock, Bucky pushes pass him inside before he can say anything. He stops in the middle of the room, taking in the sight of Steve's living room and kitchen.

 

“Wow, your room’s so tidy.”

 

“Ummm, thanks?”

 

“This is your bedroom right? I’m gonna crash.”

 

“Wait, wait!”

Steve runs and puts himself between the guest and the way to his bedroom. He tells himself he’s not scared of this dude, because, fuck it, this is his room.

 

“You can’t just burst in here. This’s my place and I don’t allow.”

Bucky raises one of his eyebrows (and it happens to be the one with the piercing) to his threaten like he's surprised that Steve is that brave. (This fucking cat really knows nothing, seriously. Of course, Steve is _that_ brave, but just not with this kind of supernatural situation is all.) He crosses his arm and leans his hip against the back of Steve's couch. Steve wants to say more, but the way Bucky’s red red, oh so insanely red lips stretch out and quirks up a little at one of the corners makes him swallow hard and somehow look stupid standing there. His big gunmetal blue eyes narrow a little in a very threaten way, and it makes Steve step back unintentionally.

 

“Oh, really?”

 

 _Of fucking course,_ if the dude doesn’t have cat ears and a tail, Steve probably says that and ready for a punch. But, well, since this dude has cat ears on the head and a fucking cat tail at the base of his spine, Steve just can’t seem to push the words out of his throat. (He’s not afraid, of course, but it’s just, well…) Bucky puts his arms up to stretch himself, and doing that with no shirt on and a very low waist tight jeans is somehow devilishly erotic Steve has to avert his eyes away like a good boy his ma is so proud of.

 

“Like I said, I’m gonna find you a girl and then I’ll go on my way. I’m not gonna be here long if you do everything I say. I’m here to be your personal cupid, Steve. Aren’t you excited?” Bucky says as he climbs over the back of his couch with a very feline movement and lies back. Steve, again, tries hard not to panic with every single word the dude says. He lifts his chin up a little and crosses his arms across the chest.

 

“Cupid? Really?” He asks, voice low in hope it'd sound threaten enough to put some fear in that cat ear dude. But it probably won’t work well as he hopes, because Bucky smiles at him obnoxiously and lifts one leg up to set it down over the back of the sofa, dangling it back and forth. Those gunmetal blue eyes that look at him with a dangerous gleam through the wide open legs make him swallow hard (again.)

 

“Really,” Bucky says. His voice is even lower and sounds more threaten. Steve means to say something back. God knows how he hates not to have the last word of the argument, but tonight is too much. He can’t handle this shit anymore, so instead of responding to that guy’s daring eyes and taunting smile, Steve turns around and walks into his bedroom, locks the door from inside securely before starts taking off his clothes and changes to his soft sweatpants, ready for bed in a very calm, _very adult_ manner like he's not on the verge of freaking out and calling Sam for his mental health advise. He's not gonna freak out, of course. He's also not gonna call Sam, who is a pilot and probably flies a complicated airplane to some small islands at the moment.

 

He's a fucking adult with a CPA certificate who works in the biggest, most successful, most outstanding weapon manufacturer in the entire planet, for christsake! 

 

“Hey! Steve, c’monnn,”

 

Fuck you and your cat ears (and your sexy thighs and your red lips and your pretty butt.)

 

“So now we’re not on speaking terms? Really?”

 

“Really,” Steve shots back, loud enough for the other to hear while lying down on his bed, ignoring the angry growl and hiss sound from outside.

 

He falls asleep within a minute.

 

*****

 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve’s never had a hangover in his miserable boring gay life, not even when he drunk a whole bottle of that strange moonshine Natasha brought back from Russia after Christmas vacation. (And just to make it even clearer, that fucking moonshine got one of the technicians in ER after 3 shots and left three engineers in an almost coma state after 4 shots so, yeah, see the point here?) So when his clock blares its sharp alarm loud and clear at 6 in the morning, Steve rouses without any headache. He blinks slowly, chasing sleep away from his eyes, and when his eyes are clear and finally able to focus, the first thing he sees is the face of the cat ear dude, who still sleeps soundly with his head lays on the same pillow as Steve.

 

Steve feels like he's getting an asthma attack.

 

“Fu…fuck! FUCK!” Steve curses loudly while blindly reaches one hand back to the side table, searching out of habit for his inhaler he always puts it there although he grew out of the asthma for a decade and a half now and tries to scoot away from the warm body on his bed at the same time. And God forbids Steve Rogers to be graceful, because once his fingers finally grab a hold on the inhaler that probably expires for almost a year already, his ass is off the edge of the bed and he eventually falls back onto the floor, ass first just like last night, and also manages to tuck half of the duvet on which the dude sleeps down with him to the floor. Steve yelps, and it’s his embarrassing high pitched noise that finally wakes the intruder up. Bucky groans sleepily as his lean body that is covered with only skin tight jeans moves to stretch, which Steve still thinks that it’s such a lazy cat movement.

 

Steve doesn’t know when exactly that the cat ear dude is fully awake, but before he can think of any word to say, Bucky has shown his face over the edge of the bed already. He lies on his front, chin on his folded arms, legs bend up at the knees with the ankles cross together, and don’t forget that fucking long cat tail that swings obnoxiously left and right. Those sharp gunmetal blue eyes look down on Steve, who still sits uselessly on the floor, with the look that is so fucking like a cat when it is on the hunt and now looking at its pray, waiting to snatch.

 

“Go to work?”

 

“Ye…yeah.”

 

“Oh, we are back on the speaking term now? I’m glad. You make me so worried that we’re not gonna be friend,” Bucky says, mockingly of course. Steve really doesn’t want to panic at this early in the morning, but the malice in those big gunmetal blue eyes that barely blink at all doesn’t make anything easier. He clutches his useless inhaler to his chest with one hand while the other holds tight at the duvet as if it’s his shield, and it probably might actually be if that fucking cat decides to jump down to struggle him.

 

“I, ummm, well…”

 

**BANG!**

 

Bucky stretches one hand out from under his chin to turn off his alarm clock that won’t give up doing its job with too much force than necessary, making his poor clock falls down from the side table and rolls until it hits its owner’s leg. Steve, who is now threatened by the half nude man with cat ears and a cat tail startles hard and scoots farther away from the bed. Bucky puts one elbow on the bed and lifts his chin up to put it down on the waiting palm, which makes that handsome face tilts to the side a little. The way that his head tilts a little like that should look cute, like when Monica the GM’s secretary does when she wants him to bring her along to the seminar in another country, but it only makes him feel more threatened (by a fucking half nude dude with cat ears for godsake!)

 

“Sorry, what did you say again? Can’t really hear you,” says the dude who just threatens him with the alarm clock and sharp eyes. Bucky uses his free hand to scratch at his dark brown cat ear softly as if to make his words more sincere and reliable and quirks one of his eyebrows (always the one with piercing, always) a little like he wants to repeat his question when he doesn’t get any answer. Steve swallows hard. If last night he’s not drunk enough for this kind of shit, this morning is too early for him to deal with this kind of shit as well. He slowly raises up from the floor, and the way those sharp gunmetal blue eyes tracks every move he makes doesn’t make Steve, who is now looking down at the prone body on the bed instead, feel any more superior than when he was on the floor. He picks up half of the duvet that was down on the floor with him then cautiously puts it back down on the bed along with his inhaler with less movement as possible while keeping an eye on the dude who watches the movement of his hands curiously. Bucky turns back to look up at his face, big eyes, red lips and messy bedhead. Fuck that, it should be adorable. It really should, but trust him, it’s not, not at all, not even a teeny tiny bit, especially when there’s a smirk placing on that full red lips.

 

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Steve. It’s annoying.”

 

“No, I’ll, errr, I need to, well, I need to get ready to work.”

Steve knows that the way he retreats to the bathroom is really pathetic and unacceptable for the Rogers (Ma would probably cuff his ears for this.), but at that moment, he doesn’t care. He will do anything including hiding in his own bathroom if it means that fucking cat will be gone when he emerges from the bathroom, soaking wet and bare as the day he’s born, because he forgets to bring his clothes and towel to the bathroom with him.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Steve mumbles while hitting his head to the wooden door of the bathroom for his stupidity. His bare ass starts to get cold as the warm from the hot shower starts to disappear.

 

“Hey, Stevie, you forgot your towel,” says Bucky from the other side of the door, and from the sound of it, he probably still lies on the bed like a lazy cat that he is. Steve curses to himself louder, which makes the cat outside laugh at him even louder.

 

“Can you,errr…”

 

“Can I what Stevie? I can’t really hear you through the door.”

 

Fuck that cat! Steve doesn’t fucking care anymore. He’s a Rogers, and a Rogers’ never back down from a fight, even it is while his ass is bare and his junk is swinging in the air like this. He’ll get dress and go to work, and no amount of this nonsense will be able to stop him, even thought that said nonsense is a half nude dude with cat ears and a tail. Steve yanks the door open and walks out to his bedroom, head held high and back ramrod straight. The water trails behind him from the bathroom to the bedroom, but like any other shits that keep happening to him since last night, Steve Rogers has already passed the point that he cares. He stands tall at the foot of the bed, looking down at the man who still lies on his stomach and whose mouth is hanging open, gapping at him with disbelieved eyes. Steve drinks that in and uses it to heal his wounded pride.

 

“Sorry, do you see my towel? I think I forget where I put it last time. I don’t wanna use a new one,” Steve says, barely keeping the smirk off his lips as the fucking cat still looks up at him with the shock expression and a faint pink on the high of his cheekbones that is threaten to spread down his neck. Well, that’s unexpectedly sweet and adorable, not that he’s mind, of course not, not at all.

 

“Well?” Steve quirks an eyebrow up a little, crosses his arms over his chest and inclines his head to the side like an innocent curious puppy, the gesture that works so fucking well with his boss most of the time. Bucky sniffs, his cat ears fidgeting in an adorable way that Steve thinks the cats would do when they are nervous. They stare at each other for a whole minute until it’s Bucky who moves first, rolling out of the bed with all feline grace, all long limbs and toned muscle, and hitting the floor on four little legs as a white cat with sharp gunmetal blue eyes. He hisses at Steve once before running and jumping out of the bedroom window. The clank sound from below indicates that he lands on the fire escape ladder. Steve waits until everything turns to silent then he finally breathe out, steeling his nerve to be ready for a day to come. Ma would be proud of him. She definitely would, judging by the way that fucking cat reacted, she would be so fucking proud and brag about her brave brave son to her neighbour for a very long time.

 

But first, he will have a talk with that little shit Laufeyson about his last night beer.

 

*****

 

Once he arrives at the office and puts his notebook backpack on the table, Clint fucking Barton shows his beat up face over the partition of their cubicle. The band aids that are plastered over the bridge of his nose and on his left cheekbone, combining with a faint black and blue around his a little swollen right eye makes Steve have to look at him twice and forget about Loki Laufeyson for a few minutes

 

“You ok there, man?”

Barton shrugs while using a finger to prod at the band aid on his cheek absentmindedly. It doesn’t look hurt, judging by the way that Barton doesn’t even flinch when he’s touching it.

 

“Yeah, I’m cool,” Barton answers with another shrug like his beat up face is not a big deal at all, and because Steve Rogers is a super nice guy that America deserves, he’s slightly worried about his friend.

 

“I thought you’re with Romanov last night,” he says, pitching his voice a tad higher at the end of the sentence to make it sounds more like a question than a statement. Still, Barton winces a little at the name of the redhead Russian. He scratches his head and smiles sheepishly, “Well, yeah, for a while I guess, but then her father showed up while we're, you know, doing the do stuff.” 

 

Steve frowns as he sits down on his chair and pulls out his laptop, turning it on. The 74 unread mails in his inbox that show up immediately once he logs in to his outlook account make him frown a little more. He turns to look at Barton who now puts his chin on the partition like a too big stray pup that doesn’t look quite cute but you can’t help thinking it's adorable anyway. (Not like that fucking cat. That fucking cat is cute and adorable and so fucking sexy. Huh? wait a minute…)

 

“So you said that her father was in town and fucked you up because you’re fucking his daughter?”

 

“Well, technically, yes. It’s his minions, actually, that beat me the fuck up.”

 

“Your life is a joke Barton,” he says, opening up one of the excel file he worked on yesterday, but before Barton can argue anything back there’s a loud squeal coming from the canteen at the front of the office. All eyes of the people who sits and works at their cubicle, Steve and Barton included, turn to the way the sound is coming from. He scrolls his chair away from the desk a little so he can look pass the partition to the canteen.

 

“The hell?” Barton mumbles as he lifts his head up in order to look to the canteen. They wait a little more for something to happen, but when there’s nothing else happen, Steve turns back to his laptop, typing something in his excel file that is finally 100% loaded then looking back up at his beaten up friend, fingers still spread over the keyboard.

 

“You know Barton, maybe you should…”

Before he can finish the sentence, there’s a fucking white cat jumping onto his desk, leaping at his laptop from behind and making the screen close onto his hands that are on the keyboard.

 

“FUCK!” Steve curses, withdrawing his hands out from the closed laptop. His eyes are comically wide while looking at that fucking cat that tries to assault him intentionally (of fucking course, it’s intentionally!). He kicks the floor to skid the chair farther from the desk as he cradles both of his hands to his chest protectively. If it’s not because of those sharp gunmetal blue eyes that look at him smugly like that, Steve probably doesn’t recognise the fucking cat.

 

How on earth does that fucking stray cat know where he works?!!

 

Steve opens his mouth, not sure he’s going for a screen or something else, but whatever it is, he doesn’t have a chance to do so because there’re several girls, who probably did the squealing a moment ago,  standing around his cubicle. Most of them have a cellphone in hand, waiting to click a shutter. And like he senses that his picture about to be taken any minute, Bucky makes himself even more adorable than usual by licking one of his paw then inclining his head to one side in order to use the same  paw scratching behind his ear.

 

Oh, it’s adorable alright.

 

“Is it your cat, Steve? You bring your cat to work?

 

Fuck if this is his cat. They are acquaintance at best.

 

“Well, no,”

 

“You got a cat? You’ve never told me you got a cat, Rogers? When did you get it? You should’ve told me,” Barton says as he reaches out across the partition to pet the white hick fur, but before he can touches the fur, Bucky (who has never had a problem with the ladies touching him) turns to hiss at Barton and jumps to sit on his lap. However, instead of getting a cat on his lap, Steve gets a lap full of pale skin, long limps and tone muscle. Bucky uses his gunmetal blue eyes to give Barton a sharp and angry look and hisses at him once more. (And when he does it in a human form, it’s more adorable than it’s threatening. God, he needs to stop using the word adorable with this dude.) Barton pulls his hand back, pursing his lips.

 

“Ok, fine. Don’t expect me to give you a treat then.”

 

“Don’t want any of your fucking treat either, fuckface. Go away,” Bucky hisses, staring until Barton sits back at his cubicle before he turns those big gunmetal blue eyes back at him. The red red lips stretch out into a shit eating grin, looking like a cat that gets all the cream in the fridge.

 

“You think you’re smart, huh Stevie?”

 

Of fucking course!

 

Steve really wants to say, but those sharp eyes that look down on him with one of the eyebrow raises make him swallow that argument back down his throat. He darts his eyes around, looking for any help and the girls that still gather around his cubicle aren’t gonna make anything better.

 

“I might not look like it but let me tell you I’m not that stupid. Your stunt this morning won’t chase me away easily, just so you know. Anyway, your office sucks, except for the girls, of course,” says Bucky, who now turns around to sit across his lap and puts his chin on Steve’s shoulder. The tall figure on his lap moves a little as if to find the most comfortable angle, which ends up with Steve has both of Bucky’s long and toned arms encircle his neck. And for some strange reason, it makes the girls squeals even more.

 

“Awwww, he loves you Steve. That’s so cute.”

 

Steve tries to smile at the girl who says that (it’s Samantha for Sales Department across the floor), but it probably looks ugly as he feels. Bucky laugh, low and evil at his ear while he inclines his head to rest his check on his shoulder, using the tip of the nose snuggling at the skin between his neck and shoulder. Steve feels rather than sees those sinfully red lips stretches into the shit eating grin again.

 

“You and me are such a pair, Stevie. We’ll have a lot of fun together, trust me on that.”

 

 

The hell Steve will trust a fucking cat?!!

 

******

 

“Okay, if…”

 

“Fuck that if, Steve! I’m not gonna deal anything with you, period.”

 

You spoiled cat!

 

Steve wants to scream at the fucking cat, who doesn’t stop arguing with him for a minute, like that and punishes it the way a cat will be punished by its owner when it’s misbehaved, but because of those eyes that look at him as if knowing what he’s thinking, Steve swallows it back with the water he gulps down from the plastic bottle he bought before he went to the park for lunch. Bucky smirks, happy with himself that he wins again before turns back to bask in the sun, face tips up and eyes close like a lazy cat that he is. Steve doesn’t mean to stare of course, but that bare chest and strong abs doesn’t make it easy not to stare.

 

“Tomorrow is Saturday. I’ll take you to your soulmate and then we’re done.”

 

“How do you know where to take me?”

 

“Let’s just say I know, alright?” Bucky says annoyingly without opening his eyes. He slouches back from the bench a little so he can put the back of his head on the back of the wooden bench and stretch his legs out.

 

“You’ll leave me alone after that?”

 

“Of course I will. I’ve my other business to attend, not just you Steve,” says Bucky as he turns to give Steve a side eye glare. It doesn’t have the same effect as the direct glare, but it’s scary just the same. The half cat dude signs as if talking to Steve tires him before tilts his head to rest on Steve’s shoulder. He’s not mind of course, but the warm breath he feels on his cheek from the half cat dude who is also half nude is making him really uncomfortable in a very embarrassing way. He holds his plastic bottle tighter and its creak sound makes Bucky chuckles softly and snuggles at his side even more.

 

“You’re so cute when you’re blushing like this. This is bad, Stevie.”

 

Not his fucking problem of course!

 

*****

**Author's Note:**

> I'm PiiNizm at Tumblr. :)


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